Sam
by BroodyGirl23
Summary: She smiled sheepishly at him, and with a shrug of her shoulders said, "would it be totally out of line for me to ask you to help me out of here?" Sam McCall/Sam Seaborn GH/TWW crossover friendship oneshot


_Okay, so this ridiculous tidbit right here? This is a Crossover oneshot (my first crossover fic ever) of Sam McCall from General Hospital and Sam Seaborn from The West Wing. It probably won't make much sense and is probably nothing but ridiculous, but my good friend Toph will get a kick out of it, and my other good friend Avery dared me, saying that I couldn't do it. Well I could do it, Ms. Avery, and here is the proof! _

_Okay, just so you know timeframes, (and this might sound really weird), but it takes place during the present day General Hospital, but season 1 of The West Wing. Yeah, I know, that's strange. Just go with it. Enjoy._

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**Sam**

. . . . .

The first thing she felt was inadequate.

She couldn't really pinpoint why. She knew she had self-respect now. She was proud of who she was and what she had accomplished. She was no longer ashamed of her past, using it instead to benefit Kristina, who was proving to need to learn more and more from Sam's mistakes every day. While Alexis never seemed to approve (though, her method of 'do as I say not as I do' didn't really fly with Sam _or_ Kristina), Kristina took Sam's advice in stride, and that in itself made all of her mistakes seem worth it.

She had even gotten passed everything that was wrong in her relationships and had built something pretty amazing with Jason. She wasn't that girl who slept around to con men who didn't respect her anymore. And she wasn't the girl whose whole life revolved around her man, like it had with Jason in the past. And she sure as hell wasn't the girl who had a relationship with a man who didn't approve, and on top of that expressed how much he didn't approve, of who she was and what she did, like it was with Lucky.

She had come a long way from the self-loathing girl she once was into a woman who respected herself and the work she did. She had a man she loved, a family she (for the most part) got along and fit in with, and a job she not only excelled at but found thrill in, and on top of everything she was happy.

So why, then, after coming into herself and finally self-confident, did she suddenly feel more incompetent than she ever had before?

Then again, growing up with Evelyn and Cody McCall would do that to you. Not to mention the way Alexis still most days looked down on her. Or the fact that, even though she was grounded and happy and doing well right now, she often found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or the fact that--

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of such thoughts. Now was not the time to start drowning in a pool of self-pity and disappointment. Her childhood only made her stronger, and she and Alexis were getting along fairly well lately. Not to mention she and Jason were stronger than ever, as was her P.I. firm. She had nothing to worry about. No shoe would drop any time soon.

She hoped, anyway.

Her hands fidgeted in her lap, she never could keep them still, as she listened to her newest potential client offer her a job that would require her to fly first thing in the morning to Washington. Washington, D.C., that is. Location of the nation's capital, of the White House and the President, of where the laws she broke were created, and of a man named Sam Seaborn.

She wasn't one to sit quiet for long, she was a talker, a rambler, and it took a lot to keep her silent. But she couldn't find any words to speak as the potential client explained to her the job he wanted her to do. It wasn't much different than other jobs she had; he needed the money shot of this Sam Seaborn with a woman he had been rumored to be with, some prostitute that they needed proof he spent time with, and (even better) slept with.

"Why me?" she asked the client when he had finished. "Why come all this way to Port Charles to get me? You're telling me that there isn't a single reporter or private investigator or photo journalist or whatever in all of D.C. that can get this shot? This doesn't seem like an extremely complicated case."

The man smiled, "because no one in D.C. is stupid enough to take this job, Ms. McCall. Not many people want the job of stalking the Deputy Communications Director of the White House. And if they are willing to do it, even less of them are willing to break the law to do so."

"The Deputy what?"

"He's a very important man, Ms. McCall. And I'm a very resourceful one. I've seen your track record. Not only are you one of the best up and coming private investigators in New York, but you've got quite the list of petty crimes up your sleeve, as well as past history of being a pretty good con woman. I know you aren't afraid of the law, and more so, I know you're a risk taker. If anyone is more qualified for this job, if anyone is more likely to _take_ this job, it's you."

She didn't know if she liked the fact that this guy had apparently looked into her. She also didn't like that it didn't sound like she might have to break the law, but more like he _**wanted **_her to break the law. And it all started to make sense. He didn't just want a money shot, he wanted _**the **_money shot. He wanted what the other reporters and the other political figures and the rest of the public couldn't get.

Suddenly the apprehension and the feelings of inadequacy began to melt away. There was something dangerous about this job - something different than the cheating wives and husbands of Port Charles - and a familiar feeling began to bubble in her gut. It wasn't nerves, it wasn't fear - it was excitement and adrenaline.

He had said all the right things to appease the thrill seeker she had accepted long ago that she was, and though she knew Jason most likely wouldn't be completely on board with the idea (he would give in eventually, knowing that she was only telling him as a formality and had already made up her mind, and he wouldn't control her life and tell her not to do it) and that she could potentially get in more trouble than she had ever been in before if she was caught, she couldn't help the smile that began to form on her face.

"You're in then?" he asked, catching the smile that played on her lips. She barely opened her mouth to respond before he added, "there will be a plane ticket waiting for you at LaGuardia. Your plane leaves at 7:48 a.m." He pulled a manilla envelope out of the briefcase he had with him and handed it to her. "Here is all the information you'll need about Sam Seaborn. His address, his usual work schedule, restaurants and bars most spotted at. It should be more than enough information for you."

She took the envelope from his hand, "is there a deadline?" she asked him, knowing that something of this nature most likely would.

He stood, putting his jacket back on and heading towards the door. "I don't think I need to tell you that there are a lot of people out there trying to get this shot first. I suggest you be the one to do it, and do it as soon as humanly possible."

She didn't like the tone of voice he suddenly used. "Is that a threat?" she asked him.

"Do your job, Ms. McCall." And with that, he was out the door.

. . . . .

It had been a long day, and as he sat at his desk trying to find the right words to the speech he had been working on for what seemed like forever, he just couldn't find any that he liked (or, rather, that Toby liked). All prospect of getting the work done anytime soon was out the window as C.J. made her way into his office, her face showing the obvious frustration (or was it annoyance?) with him. He knew what she was clearly upset about, and he knew that once he asked, he would only make the long day even longer. "Did I do something to put that look on your face, C.J.?"

"Well, gee, I don't know," the sarcasm in her voice was to be expected, "oh, that's right, you made friends with a prostitute and people are starting to find out about it!"

He stood up, taking his glasses off and placing them on his desk, looking back up at C.J. "I don't really see how it's such a problem that I be friends with this girl," he said, and before C.J. could get out whatever she was about to yell at him, he added, "I mean, I know it's a problem to the general public, but I'm not sleeping with her. We're just friends. I'm friends with a call girl."

"You're friends with a call girl," C.J. repeated. "And word has gotten out, seeing as Danny just asked me in the press room about it."

He knew where this is going. "You want me to stay away from her, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want. I also want you to go back in time and not be the moron who thinks it's okay for someone in your position to try and save this girl in the first place."

"I'm not trying to save her. I just like her. We're friends. I'm a friendly person who made a friend," he sat back down at his desk, putting his glasses back on, and typing away on his laptop, trying to indicate to C.J. that he had actual work to do.

C.J. didn't seem to care. "Sam, if Danny has heard about it, then other people have heard about it, and people are going to be watching you. They're going to want to report about this. They're going to want to find out everything about her and whether or not you are sleeping with her."

"But I'm not sleeping with her."

"Sam, that's not the point," C.J. was getting more and more frustrated. "You're out hanging around with a prostitute."

"Laurie," Sam interrupted. "Her name is Laurie."

"Well, I suggest you stay away from Laurie until this breezes over." C.J. decided that would be her best exit line, and, with a disapproving shake of her head, left Sam alone in his office. He stared at his laptop for a few minutes before closing it and surrendering.

Yes, this day just got a whole long longer.

. . . . .

She didn't know what was worse, the fact that the dress was the littlest thing she had ever worn, or the fact that it constantly felt the need to ride up even more. _Don't worry guys_, she thought to herself, _no need to get me undressed, just send me on a walk, this stupid dress will ride up so much you'll see anything you want_.

She checked herself in the tinted window of one of the cars she passed by (a black Mercedes, because apparently every one was required to drive nice cars in this neighborhood), and made sure her wig wasn't off centered. She scrunched her nose as she looked at herself. She was definitely, no matter how many times she decided to play this alias, not meant to be a red head.

She knew his place of residence was only a few more feet away, and, since she also knew the model, make, and license plate of his car, she knew that he was pulling up to it. She checked her cell phone for the time, noting the three missed calls from Jason (he could be so overprotective sometimes), and saw that he was arriving home almost an hour and a half later than her file said to expect him. Though, the file also said that times and locations may vary, considering he worked in the White House.

His car parked, and he slowly climbed out, and the first thing she noticed was how worn out and exhausted he looked. His shirt tail untucked, and his tie undone, she watched as Sam Seaborn (younger looking than she had expected someone working in the White House would be) made his way away from his car. He was an attractive man, his hair cut short and neat, his body thin but in shape, and she couldn't help herself from thinking that he was nothing like Jason, though definitely still attractive.

Realizing she was staring and not working, she didn't waste anymore time, and practically threw her wallet in the air, causing all of her money (change, mostly, wanting to go for the extra added effect of rolling coins) to spill out all over the sidewalk and street.

"Oh, my! This will not do!" she exclaimed in her best, though still not exactly good, southern accent. Bending over to pick up the loose change, though not too much so that anyone behind her would get the money shot of her ass, she watched out of the corner of her eyes as Sam Seaborn, without hesitation, came over to her to help.

She continued to exclaim a bunch of "oh shoot!"s and "oh golly!"s as she and Sam Seaborn scrambled to get it all.

"We almost got it all," he said, sending a smile her way.

"Well, gee, aren't you just the sweetest!" she said, as he handed her all the change he had collected once they had it all. "My roommate Darlene, she says most men these days are scum who wouldn't bother helping you pick up nothin' off the ground, but look at you!"

"I'm happy to help," he offered politely, wanting really nothing more than to just climb into bed.

She chomped down a couple times on the big wad of gum that consumed her mouth before sticking out her hand. "I'm Taffee, by the way. Taffee Ryan. Like the candy, only not spelt the same. I spell it with two ee's. I think it's so much classier that way, dontcha think?" She cocked her head to the side, twirling her red locks between her fingers.

Anyone could tell he was trying not to look as amused with her as he was. "It's different. Different is good," he took her hand and shook it. "Sam Seaborn."

"The Sam Seaborn? Get out of town!" she said, as she playfully hit him on the chest. "You're like, one of the most important people who work in the White House, aren't you?"

His smile was a nervous one, and he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head. "You could say that, though I don't think many of the people I work with would agree."

"But you know the president, right?" she continued to talk to him, running her hand up and down his arm, and getting closer and closer to him. "That's _so **awesome**_!"

He shifted his feet, clearly uncomfortable, and she noticed how nervous he seemed. "It's okay, look, I'm glad to have helped you, but it's been a long day, and I really should go on inside. Do you need me to call you a cab or anything?"

"Shut the front door, that's your home? Wow, and Darlene and I thought that our apartment was a steal, now this, _this_ is luxury living!" she took a few steps ahead of him, making sure to sway her hips as she got in front of him. "How about I come in and we have a drink and you show me around that nice place of yours. I bet the bedroom is to die for."

He smiled politely, "it gets the job done. But I really need to be going, so please, let me call you a cab. Do you need any money for it?"

Her smile faltered for a minute. This was unexpected. Not only was he not going for her obvious advances on him, but he was offering to call for a cab he was willing to pay for. And he didn't even sound condescending about it, or in a way that would suggest he thought she wasn't capable of calling herself a cab. He just honestly seemed to want to make sure she get to wherever she was going safely. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded her head, and he pulled out his cell phone to call a cab for her.

Her mind was swirling with a bunch of different thoughts and scenarios. Maybe he didn't like red heads. Maybe she was too short for him. Maybe she over did it with the southern accent, she could see how that could get annoying. Maybe she just wasn't classy enough, she didn't really know much about the girl (or girls) he was spending his time with. That wasn't in his file.

Or maybe he just wasn't in to prostitutes at all.

Interesting.

. . . . .

A week later, she found herself yet again parked outside of Sam Seaborn's house. He had done nothing but go to work and come home every night, and as far as she could tell, he didn't have a suspicious movement or moment at all. She was beginning to wonder if this was all a set up. If really, they were out to get some fool to agree to do this, and then arrest her for being just that - a fool.

She felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket, and both smiled and rolled her eyes when she saw that Jason was the caller. "Hey you," she greeted.

"Sam, are you okay? Have you made any progress? You're keeping safe, right? Because it's not like the PCPD there, they have extremely good security, Sam, and--"

"Jason!" she laughed, interrupting him. "I'm keeping safe. I haven't gone anywhere near the White House, I've been keeping an eye on him mostly from his place." She listened for Jason to reply on the other end, and when he didn't, she added, "okay, that was a lie, I went over to the White House a couple of times, but Jason, I was discreet, I swear." She really was discreet. She had a disposable camera she carried around as well as a fanny pack. As far as she was concerned, she screamed "tourist".

He let out a frustrated sigh on the other end. "I really don't like that you're doing this. If you get caught, Sam--"

"I won't get caught. Have some faith, Jason."

"I do, Sam. I know you're good at what you do, but it's dangerous there to do it," he told her. "I'll fly out and come help you."

It was her turn to sound frustrated. "Jason, you can't just come out here. I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own, not to mention you're busy dealing with Sonny's latest crisis. Look, just a couple more days of trying and if nothing comes about, I'll throw in the towel, okay?"

"I miss you."

She smiled, "I miss you, too, Jason."

He continued to tell her to be careful and make sure she kept an eye out (she tried not to zone him out, but he was just too overprotective sometimes), when she watched as Sam Seaborn made his way out of his apartment, in different clothes than he returned home in, and head to his car. "Jason, I gotta go." She didn't even give an explanation before hanging up the phone and following Sam.

. . . . .

He sat at the late night diner across from Laurie, knowing full well that meeting her this late at night at this kind of location was probably more sketchy than just meeting her normal hours out in public. He hadn't seen and barely spoke to her since C.J. had forbid him to, and he knew that he owed her an explanation for that. One that he wanted to give to her face to face, instead of taking the coward's way out and explaining over the phone.

They had a good late night dinner together in spite of it, and he drove her home telling her that he would call, before heading back to his place where he knew he would fall asleep the minute his head touched his pillow. He walked into his place and the first thing he noticed was how cold it was. Walking over to check the thermostat, seeing that the heat was on and it definitely should be this cold, he walked around trying to find the source of the apparent draft.

He walked towards the back of his home, and noticed that one of his windows was open. Relieved that he figured out the problem, he closed it, making sure to lock it so that it stayed closed, and went back over to the thermostat to raise the heat. He heard clanging come from one of the air vents as he did, and wondered for a moment if something was stuck in one of them, figuring that the clog, plus the open window, would make his place seem as ridiculously cold as it was.

He raised the heat even more, and the clanging was heard again, only this time he figured out exactly which air vent from. Walking over, he figured he would open it and see if anything was blocking the air way, and if not, he would just have to curse the fact that he would have to hire someone to come fix it. Then again, anything was better than the freezing cold he was currently experiencing.

He pulled over a chair to stand on to reach the vent, and latched his fingers around it as he began to pull, hoping a) it wasn't screwed shut and b) he was strong enough to actually pull it off. Much to his surprise, he was able to pull it off fairly easy, which he hadn't expected.

He also hadn't expected to see a woman's face staring at him on the other side.

He let out a yell, getting caught so off guard he jumped, causing the chair he was standing on to topple over. He fell to the ground with a thud, and as his heart pounded ridiculously fast in his chest, he looked up to make sure he wasn't seeing anything.

The brunette in his air vent stared down at him with a guilty, though non-apologetic, look on her face, and he wondered for a moment if he had seen her before. She looked familiar (though he couldn't quite remember where from) and a million and one thoughts ran through his head. Though, the only one he was able to get out was, "what the hell!"

She smiled sheepishly at him, and with a shrug of her shoulders said, "would it be totally out of line for me to ask you to help me out of here?"

. . . . .

She took a few photographs as she watched Sam Seaborn and his female friend have a conversation and dinner at a diner about thirty minutes away from his place. And although the time and location seemed a little out of ordinary (seemed as though he knew he had something to hide), nothing else about it seemed sketchy at all. He wasn't flirting or hitting on her in any inappropriate way at all, he seemed to just be enjoying her company as a friend would. And his female companion seemed to be just that - a companion.

They talked like old friends for a while, and Sam decided that she would leave now and head over to Sam Seaborn's place. She could wait and follow them, see if they headed to the woman's house or if he was the motel type, but she knew that the risks were heavy in this case, and she didn't want to get caught stalking an important White House employee. Maybe breaking into the home of one wasn't the brightest idea ever either, but she wanted to scope it out before she did anything more drastic.

Considering her options when she got there, she decided that the back window (why it wasn't locked was beyond her, was Washington that much of a safe place compared to Port Charles?) would be her best bet on getting inside. Once she was in, she looked around trying to find something (anything, really) that would satisfy the client who hired her. No such luck. She was starting to get really bored with this never ending pointless case.

Until suddenly she heard the sound of what she immediately knew was the front door being unlocked. Her heart sped up as she realized he came straight home from the diner. No after dinner fun with the female companion, apparently. Not knowing what else to do, she climbed up onto one of the desks in the room she was in, took out her screw driver, and quickly opened the air vent. She thanked God every time something like this happened that she was small.

She closed it behind her, not bothering to make sure if it was tight and secure or not (she didn't really care), and she attempted to start crawling to some type of freedom. She heard as Sam Seaborn made his way into the room she was in, closing the window she had (stupidly) left open.

Deciding to just ignore Sam Seaborn, she continued to try to climb through the air vent, when suddenly she felt her heel get caught. _**Shit**_. She was known for wearing inappropriate footwear during most of her jobs, but this was the first time they had ever betrayed her so badly. She tried her best to pull it free, but it was no use, and the motion caused her to tumble backwards a bit, the only thing keeping her from falling right through the vent she came in from was the heel of her fashionable boot.

And it was suddenly getting a lot hotter in the vent.

She tried a second time to free herself, doing her best to conceal the clang her heels were making, but still to no avail. And it was getting so hot that she was sweating, making her practically stick to the metal around her. This was not proving to be a good situation at all.

She was so caught up in her predicament, she didn't even notice when Sam Seaborn pulled off the vent, meeting her eye for eye. He stared at her for half a second before jumping out of his skin, knocking the chair he was standing on over, and falling to the floor. "What the hell!" he exclaimed as he stared at her.

She smiled sheepishly at him, and with a shrug of her shoulders said, "would it be totally out of line for me to ask you to help me out of here?" He didn't movie. "Or maybe at least turn down the heat so I don't melt?"

It was a bad situation turned worse, she knew she was caught and she assumed Sam Seaborn wouldn't hesitate to call the cops. He left her view for a moment, and she assumed he was doing just that, when she realized that the heat had stopped. He turned it off.

He came back into view and stared up at her. "Do I know you?"

"No, and please, if you can just help me down from here, I promise I'll explain everything."

"What are you stuck on?"

"My heel. My shoe heel is stuck and I can't reach from this angle to unzip it to get it off."

He continued to stare at her for another moment before he fixed the chair he toppled over, and stood up on it to become level with her head a second time. "Okay, I'm just gonna..." He slid his arms passed her, doing his best not to accidentally touch any part of her he shouldn't (though he wasn't exactly successful, making the whole situation even more awkward). He had to really stretch his arm to reach her boot to unzip it, but he managed to get it undone enough for her to slip out of it and fall right into his arms, knocking them both back onto the ground.

She climbed off of him, and extended a hand to help him up, and they just stared at each other for a moment. She bit her lip, waiting for him to talk, but he never did. "Why don't I just get going," she said, attempting to make her way towards the front door.

"Not so fast," he stopped her. "Do you know who I am? Forget that, do you know that breaking and entering is against the law? And that climbing though someone else's heating vents is a crime?"

"What kind of crime? Because, I mean, I already broke in and entered. Climbing through the vent really doesn't seem like it'd be a crime of it's own," she knew it probably wasn't the smartest time to play coy, but she was nervous. She couldn't help but ramble.

He stopped, as though he was considering that for a moment, before getting back to the problem at hand. "What's your name, and what are you doing in my home."

"I'm Sam, and--"

"You're Sam? Stop pulling my leg."

"No, I am. Sam McCall." She extended her hand for him to shake. "Like, short for Samantha. Sam."

He hesitantly took her hand to shake back, "I'm assuming you already know I'm Sam. Like, short for Samuel, Sam."

"Yeah, I know who you are."

"And why do you know who I am?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay, some guy hired me to look into something about you. I'm a private investigator from Port Charles, New York. I'm a damn good one, too, but this whole place makes me so nervous I'm not exactly on top of my game. I mean, the police in Port Charles? They're complete idiots most of the time. I mean, we literally get away with murder. But here? Shit, I mean, it's the freaking capital!"

She was rambling, and he knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere if he didn't interrupt her. "Okay, so you're a private investigator? Who hired you? What does this person want?"

"The money shot of you sleeping with a hooker."

"Call girl. She's a call girl," he corrected, and she couldn't help but raise her eyebrow at him. "Not that I'm sleeping with her, because I'm not. We're friends. Anyway, that doesn't matter, who hired you?"

"You're friends with a call girl?"

"Her name is Laurie. And I'm assuming you followed us to dinner tonight? Did you take pictures?"

"I did," she told him honestly. "If I give them to you, will you be easy on me when you call the police or the CIA or whatever you White House people call when things like this happen?"

"I'm not going to call the CIA on you," he said, sitting down in the chair he had used to reach the vent defeatedly. "But I do want those pictures. Or just get rid of them. Look, there's a lot of people dying for those pictures, just to run my name through the mud a bit and cause trouble for me at work. Not to mention, Laurie--"

"The call girl?"

"Yeah. You know, she's in law school right now? Yeah, she's trying to get her law degree. You know, if word gets out about what she does..."

Sam's eyes opened a little wider, "God, I could totally ruin her life, couldn't I?"

"We're just friends. I don't sleep with her. And I certainly don't pay her for her company."

"Look, I don't want to exploit her. Or you for that matter. Okay, I mean, that's not why I got into this business. I'm not out to ruin people's lives. I'm really not," she explained. "But this guy who hired me... I don't want to cause trouble. It's fine. I'll deal with it. Please, I'll give up the case if you just let me go."

"Who hired you?"

"He didn't exactly give me a name," she told him, and pulled out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. "But he gave me this number and location on how and where to reach him."

He nodded his head, and smiled, looking up at her. "You're pretty ballsy. Were you going to stop at breaking into my house? Or were you going to try breaking into the White House next?"

"I'm not sure I want to answer that," she smiled back. She handed him her camera. "You can have it. I'm officially off this case."

"Thank you," he said, taking the camera from her. "You go ahead. No one's going to arrest you tonight."

"Oh thank God," she exclaimed, causing him to let out a small laugh. "You going to take care of the guy who hired me? Because, I mean, I know someone who can take care of that problem no questions asked."

He shook his head, "I'll be okay, and I don't think I really want to question that any further."

"No, it's probably best you don't." Not wanting to overstay her welcome, and not wanting to risk this lucky break she was getting, she turned to head for the front door.

"Sam?" he called after her, and she turned to face him. "Just wondering, if you were to spell your name Sammy, would you spell it with a 'y' or two 'ee's? Because I hear the two 'ee's are classier."

She smirked at him with a, "bye Mr. Seaborn", and headed out the door. Jason would be ecstatic to hear that she was going to be coming home. She would save the story as to why she was coming home for later.

As she walked away from his place, she turned back to face it for only a second. It had been an interesting case, indeed, and if she had actually succeeded, she would have proven herself to be one of the best P.I.s around. Not to mention the thrill this case had given her.

But Sam Seaborn had proven himself (in more ways than one) to be nothing but a nice guy, and those were hard to come by. And she really didn't want to be the person to blow this woman's life out of the water for letting all of D.C., and by extension all of the world, to know what was going on.

She turned back around and kept walking. Some thrills just weren't worth it.


End file.
